Keeping house

I received some good advice after having our first child about keeping house vs. building a home. As a new mom, then working outside the home, it was easy to stress myself out about keeping the house clean and having everything in its place. My mother-in-law told me that when our children are grown, they won’t remember the time spent keeping house or doing laundry. They will remember the time we spent together.

Since I’m not inherently a fussy housekeeper, I was certainly glad to hear this advice and more than willing to let all the pressing issues of maintaining a pristine and unsoiled living space go by the wayside. After all, who has time for spring cleaning when spring baseball is in full swing? I have, however, tried to instill a tiny bit of hygienically-necessary skills and “pick up after yourselves” attitudes in both of our boys. After all, they too will have wives someday.

I suppose at least some of my efforts are paying off, as both kids recognize a mess when they make one and will even shout for a rag if one is required.

They also love to use the broom and the mop. So much so, that it can be impossible to complete that chore unimpeded. Some days, I just have to give in and let them take control of the kitchen floor. It’s usually a mess to begin with, so it really can’t get much worse.

Cooper likes to wipe things with a rag and can actually be pretty helpful at times. However, he doesn’t understand that wet rags don’t have to be dripping to be effective and they aren’t really the preferred method for cleaning a leather couch. But what’s a mom to do?

He was playing outside last week when he came in and asked for a wet rag so he could clean-up his dump truck. Who knows where he got the idea that vehicles are supposed to be clean; it certainly wasn’t from living in this house.

Brisco is our trash man. He loves to throw things in the garbage. We just have to be careful that it is garbage when it goes in and not something we might need later. Both boys love the trash truck and stand at the front door every Wednesday morning and wave to the men as they haul away our weekly waste.

After our most recent move, we started a nightly tradition of vacuuming the carpet. It was a good way to get the boys to pick up their toys each evening, and a signal that bedtime was drawing near. We soon discovered, however, that the way the boys reacted when the vacuum was turned on did not lend itself to the relaxing atmosphere we needed before bedtime. It seems crashing monster trucks into the side of the sweeper, or darting wildly in the path of its light, all while screaming at the top of one’s lungs, does little to calm the soul.

While we have made progress in several areas, no matter how much time we allot to instructing and deciphering the fresh from the yucky, it seems some instincts are just impossible to over-ride. Brisco’s take on the “five second rule” is a prime example. Not only (in his mind) is it completely acceptable to eat the goldfish out of my trash pile when I sweep the floor, but he has also discovered that if he leaves pretzels in his bed, in his toy box, or under the edge of Daddy’s recliner, he can freely enjoy a snack anytime he has the urge.

With that crazy kid around, I’ve had to learn the hard way that if there is one chore that can’t go undone it is clearing the dishes from the kitchen table. After a rushed breakfast one morning before church, our cereal bowls remained in place well into the afternoon. Upon rising from his afternoon nap, Brisco wandered sleepy-eyed to his place at the table and proceeded to finish up the remains of his milk-soaked Rice Crispies. Even chunky and soggy, those puffs hit the spot.

So on the days when there are no clean socks, I can’t find my purse, and the match to all my shoes are sitting in the bottom of the garbage, I look for comfort in the fact that the memories my boys hold dear will not be of their mom blustering about with a can of Pledge and a feather duster. What I hope they will remember is driving racecars on the bar, reading books in “Mommy’s chair”, and hitting baseballs in the middle of the living room. I hope that they will have learned how to build a home of their own someday. After all, anybody can learn to keep house.

And that’s All in a day’s work!